Is the Crabby Old Man Depressed?

Tony Forgione, the CEO of 75 State Street in Portland, sent me a poem recently that I thought would be worth passing along. Ever a reporter, I decided to do a little background check — not on Tony, but on the supposed poet! It turns out the story behind the poem is not accurate. I still think it has a good message, so I’m posting the version Tony received along with the original.

Poem Tony receivedCrabby Old Man
What do you see nurses? . . … . . What do you see?
What are you thinking . . . . . When you’re looking at me?
A crabby old man . .. . . . Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit …. . . . . With faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food . . . .. . And makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . . . . . ‘I do wish you’d try!’
Who seems not to notice .. .. . …. . The things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . . . Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . .. . .. . The long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking? . …. . . . Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse . . . .. . You’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am. . . . …. . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, . . . .. . As I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of Ten . .. . . .. With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters . . .. … .. Who love one another.
A young boy of Sixteen . . . .. With wings on his feet.
Dreaming that soon now . . . . … A lover he’ll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . . .. My heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows . . . . . That I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . …. . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other .. . . . . With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons . . … . . Have grown and are gone,
But my woman’s beside me . . . . . To see I don’t mourn.
At Fifty, once more, babies play ’round my knee,
Again, we know children .. . . . My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . . . My wife is now dead.
I look at the future . . . . . Shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing . …. . . . Young of their own.
And I think of the years .. . . .. . And the love that I’ve known.
I’m now an old man . . . . ….. And nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age . . . . . Look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles . . . . . Grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . . . . Where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass . . . . . A young guy still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . My battered heart swells.
I remember the joys . . . . . I remember the pain.
And I’m loving and living . . . … . Life over again.
I think of the years, all too few . . . . … Gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . .. . . That nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people . . . … . Open and see.
Not a crabby old man . … . . Look closer . .. . See ME!!

Supposed story behind the Crabby Old Man poemWhen an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in Grass Valley, CA, it was believed that he left nothing of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. It’s quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

One nurse took her copy to Missouri.

The old man’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent poem.

And this little old man, with nothing left to give the world, is now the author of this “anonymous” poem winging across the Internet.

Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within.

Other versions of the story behind Crabby Old Man
This poem and another from an elderly woman’s point of view have been circulating for about two decades, along with slightly different versions of its origin. The man has lived in a nursing home in California, Nebraska and Florida and the woman in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland.

The real storyI did a little digging on the Internet and believe I found the author of the original poem — David Griffith, from Fort Worth, Texas. On his website PalletMaster’s Workshop it says he is a home-bound disabled person who has been writing and publishing poems and short stories since 1969. I wanted to find out more about him and the real story behind the poem, but was unable to contact him. I was disappointed, but decided to go ahead and share his poem, which is not titled Crabby Old Man, by the way.

Too Soon Old, by David Griffith
What do you see, my friends, what do you see… what are you thinking when you’re looking at me? A crabby old man, one not very wise, uncertain of habit, with far away eyes. Who dribbles his food and makes no reply… when you say in a loud voice, “I wish you’d try?” Who seems not to notice the things that you do, and forever is losing a sock or a shoe. Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will… with bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what you’re thinking? Is that what you see? Then open your eyes my friends, you’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am as I sit here so still, as I live at your bidding, as I enjoy company at your will. I’m a small child of ten with a father and mother, brothers and sisters, who love one another.
A young boy of sixteen, a football in his hands and with wings on his feet, dreaming that soon now a lover he’ll meet.
A marine soon at eighteen — my heart gives a leap, remembering the oath that I promised to keep. At twenty-five now, I have a platoon of my own, ‘who need me to guide them and secure a trip home.
A man of thirty, my youth now going too fast, hopefully bound to others with ties that should last.
At fifty my daughter and sons have grown and are gone, and I have no one beside me to see I don’t mourn.
At sixty no more babies play around my knee, again I know heartbreak, my loneliness and me. Dark days are upon me, my dreams are all dead; I look at the future, I shudder with dread. For my young are all rearing young of their own, and I think of the years and the love that I’ve known.
I’m now an old man and nature is cruel; ’tis jest to make old age look like a fool. The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart, there is now a stone where I once had a heart. But inside this old carcass a young man still dwells, and now and again my battered heart swells. I remember the joys, I remember the pain, and I’m loving and living live over again.
I think of the years; all too few. Gone too fast, and accept the stark fact that nothing can last. So open your eyes, my friends, open and see, not a crabby old man; look closer — see ME!! (Copyrights Number 1-434-507-000)

Poems’ MessagesThe message in either version is the same: “So open your eyes, my friends, open and see, not a crabby old man; look closer — see ME!!” I think the poems also raise another important issue — depression among the elderly, which is often not recognized and not treated. First of all, depression is NOT a normal part of aging. According to the National Institute of Mental Health, “Emotional experiences of sadness, grief, response to loss, and temporary blue moods are normal. Persistent depression that interferes significantly with ability to function is not.” Staying physically, mentally, and socially active can help reduce the risk in older people, but anyone with symptoms of depression should be thoroughly checked out by a healthcare provider to determine the cause and best course of treatment.

Symptoms of depression in the elderlyDepression in an elderly person may be hard to diagnose because many of the usual symptoms — fatigue, loss of appetite, and insomnia — are common as we age or have an illness. Be on the lookout for these signs as well:

Confusion

Forgetfulness

Loss of appetite

Decreased attention to hygiene

Increased isolation

No one should suffer with depression, at any age. If someone you care about shows any of the signs open your eyes and look closer.

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Diane Atwood

For more than 20 years, Diane was the health reporter on WCSH 6. Before that, a radiation therapist at Maine Medical Center and after, Manager of Marketing/PR at Mercy Hospital. Now she writes the award-winning blog Catching Health with Diane Atwood.